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He'd spent the night in the caves; and by that, dear reader, we mean he spent eight or nine miserable hours trying to adjust his body so that it wasn't screaming at him. When he emerged in the morning Firefly looked a little bit disheveled but otherwise no different - the same dark circles under his eyes (hardly noticable with his complexion), the same hobbling gait, just a little bit more ornery than his usual. Illidan had told him to get to know the beach as best he could, and since sleep didn't seem eager to befall him, Firefly went ahead and got an early start to the day.

The wolf was striding across the sand with his nose a few inches above the ground's surface, investigating the scents of the beach and trying to decide if they were familiar or not. He didn't notice the stranger traipsing around, trailing urine like a poorly connected ileoanal resevoir (google it) for a little bit — and by the time he noticed the shifting shadow in his blurry periphery, the stranger was already deep within the territory.

It sent Firefly's vibrant hackles rising up; he narrowed his eyes to try and focus his milky, mostly-bad left eye, and began an interception course. There was no way to tell (at least for him) if this stranger was a friend of Illidan's or not, so the man approached as quickly as he could but with a neutral posture, just in case.